April Munday

by His Ransom

  After a while her silence began to scare him, until he realised that she had fallen asleep and relief washed over him. If she slept she would recover. Rosamunde was not a weak woman, he could acknowledge that now, but even she would take some time to get over this. Sir Walter had taken her by violence, but she would come to terms with it and Richard might be able to help her. There was no sign of any pursuit and had they not come upon Guy and the soldiers from Corchester. It started to get light and Rosamunde awoke, although she still said nothing. While she had slept, Richard had not had to think about how her body felt against his quite so much, but now that she was awake she began to move against him in her efforts to make herself comfortable. As before, her hard nipples pressed against his flesh and he had to control his reaction to her.

  As the early morning became lighter, Richard began to recognise the landscape. He and Thomas had come out to inspect the trees in this valley a few days earlier. The river ran down through a wood and into the valley that took the river down to the sea past the duke’s castle. He finally reined in the horse at the top of the valley that he now knew so well, finally believing they would not be caught. The castle that he had thought so ugly when he had first seen it stood out against the snow, bright in the sunlight. Now it had become familiar. He did not think it pretty or even attractive, but it had become his home. He no longer wished to return to France. He had long stopped considering these people and their language barbaric; they were his friends and their language was his. Most of what his mother had told him about England was true; it was cold and damp and the colours were dull, although he knew that summer would bring something different. From stories and tales told around the fire in the evenings he had a better idea of the land in which he now lived and its history. His mother had always told him that she had stayed in France because she had fallen in love with his father and preferred France to England. He knew now that she had arrived in Paris as a lady in waiting to the treacherous Queen Isabella who was plotting to remove her husband from his throne and replace him with her lover. Now he wondered if it hadn’t been the threat of a civil war in England that had disposed her to love his father and his country, rather than return when the queen and her lover invaded their country. He would never know; he would prefer to think that she had stayed for his father’s sake as he would stay here for Rosamunde’s. He would never return to Provence if there was a chance that he could be near her.

  The lack of motion had disturbed her and she lifted her head from his shoulder to smile up at him. “You have kept your word to my father.”

  “May I then claim my reward?” He spoke without thinking, but he knew what he wanted from her.

  “What reward would you have that is within my power to grant?” She frowned, as if calculating the small wealth that she held in her own right.

  “A kiss.” She gasped. He was about to withdraw his request when she spoke, “You are correct that I can grant you that reward,” she said, offering her face to him.

  He bent his face toward her and took his reward. He was tentative at first, intending to be careful of the cuts and bruises on her face, but, as she did not pull back, he became more insistent. He held her head through the thickness of her glorious chestnut hair and was answered by her fingers threading through his own hair. He teased her lips with his tongue until she opened them and he was lost. It seemed that Rosamunde was as eager for the kiss as he, for she pulled his head closer and learning from him, sent her own tongue to explore his mouth.

  It seemed to him that many lifetimes had passed before they finally broke apart by mutual consent, both breathing heavily.

  He expected her to look away, but again she confounded him, holding his gaze as if she expected something more. Her arms were twined around his neck, the length of her body pushed against his. He swallowed; he had missed something. Could it be that Rosamunde loved him already? She had given him no sign, but of course, she would not.

  He had expected to have to work hard to persuade her to love him. He had not considered the possibility that she could love him already. He had nothing except himself to offer. He loved her, he knew that now. She was no longer a virgin, Sir Walter had made sure of that, but she was still Rosamunde. He could not undo what had been done, but he could offer Rosamunde a way out. She had said that she would go into the convent, but he would offer her marriage. He had married, unknowingly, one woman who was not a virgin, now he would marry another knowing exactly how she had fought for and lost her virginity. Rosamunde was tarnished and could not expect to marry the kind of man her father or she would want. Richard was the son of a count. He had nothing now but his rank. Rosamunde could not expect anything better and she might yet prefer the convent to the cripple who had nothing, but none of that mattered if she loved him. She had kissed him as if she loved him.

  Finally he said, “I should like to ask your father for your hand, if it is not displeasing to you.” He held his breath. How could it not be displeasing to her? It was presumptuous of him to imagine that she could consider marriage to him. He was her prisoner. In her household he was less than nothing. He had nothing except his rank and he doubted his rank held any attraction for Rosamunde. He doubted that she would be attracted by wealth either; she would want to respect her husband. He believed that she respected him, as he respected her.

  Rosamunde considered for a moment, then smiled. “It is not displeasing to me. And you may claim another kiss on the day you ask him.” This was more than he could have hoped for. Now it was his turn to smile. She loved him. She would support him when he asked for her hand. Sir Walter might have had her virginity, but he had her love.

  She shivered and lowered her head to his shoulder. She was cold. The long ride in the snow had taken its toll. Richard also shivered, but it was for the desire of the woman he held pressed against him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rosamunde’s abduction had taken a greater toll on her than anyone had realised at first and she spent some days in bed, recovering. Since he could not be with Rosamunde (Margaret flatly denied him access the first time he tried), Richard had to content himself with visiting Thomas. He had survived his wounds and was making a very slow recovery under Margaret’s watchful eye. Richard also had his own aches and pains to recover from. The journey had tired him considerably and his leg pained him greatly. He did not keep to his bed, however, knowing that Guy needed his support. He made himself available to the younger man, explaining that no task was too menial to help him while Rosamunde and Thomas were recovering. Guy was grateful for his help and they kept the castle running and continued with the building works. The activity kept Richard occupied so that he could not think too much about Rosamunde. It was only when he lay in bed at night that he allowed himself to think of her. The memory of her kiss burned his lips. He wanted to be with her, to hold her while she recovered and stroke her hair and to tell her that all would be well.

  For a few days after they returned from Sir Walter’s manor he had to use a crutch again; his leg was so stiff he could barely move it and it refused to take his weight. Guy, grateful for his help, made sure there was always a stool for him to sit on whenever they were not moving around the castle or the town. Margaret gave him a different ointment and he finally accepted something to lessen the pain, knowing that he did not have to be as alert as he had been. When he had first arrived he had had to work his leg for it to heal, now she told him that he needed rest.

  During those few days he grew closer to Guy. Since he had returned with Rosamunde, Guy’s suspicions of him had disappeared. Richard and Rosamunde had ridden into a bailey full of men prepared to go to battle. Richard was not surprised at the killing lust that he saw on their faces. They had not been chosen to go to France with their lord and they had not been able to fight during the siege and now it seemed that all their discomfort and sacrifice had been for nothing, for Rosamunde was Sir Walter’s after all. They were prepared to go and lay waste to Sir Walter’s property and people to avenge their
lady. Guy, alone, was not disappointed that they no longer had an excuse to do so. Richard took that as a sign of maturity in the young man. Guy had not seen battle, but he was wise enough to know that it was not as glorious as the songs made it out to be. It was into Guy’s capable hands that Richard had given up Rosamunde. He had known that he no longer had the strength to carry her himself. When he had lowered himself to the ground from his horse it turned out that he did not even have the strength to carry himself. He collapsed beneath the legs of Guy’s horse, neither of his legs able to take his weight.

  None of the men had laughed at the French cripple, instead friendly hands reached out to help him up and one of the men pulled Richard’s arm across his shoulders and took his weight as he stumbled into the castle. He had fallen asleep as soon as he was helped into his bed. Some time later Guy came to fetch him to his bath and the heat of the water made him feel more like himself. While he soaped himself he had told Guy some of what had happened at Sir Walter’s manor.

  “You were right, then, one man could do it,” Guy commented appreciatively.

  “I was lucky,” admitted Richard, “They did not guard the entrance well and there is too much water in the moat.”

  “You saved her and the people here will not forget that. I will not forget that.”

  Richard did not mention his deepest fear; that he had not actually saved Rosamunde, but only brought her home to live with her disgrace.

  Guy helped him back to his bedchamber where a servant had brought him food. They ate together and then Richard slept again. When he next woke the sun had risen again and Rosamunde had sent him a gift of some fine ham and a round of cheese. He was happy that she was recovered enough to think of him.

  Richard went to find Guy, who was spending some time with the archers that morning. Richard stood with him and they watched the archers together in companionable silence. The boys were no longer English archers and they were no longer the enemy; they were Nick, Tom, John and Peter. They had greeted him with friendly waves when he had entered the courtyard. He knew enough about what they were doing now to joke with them about their accuracy and their strength and they passed a pleasant hour.

  When the boys had finished Richard was left alone with Guy.

  “Did you want me for something?” asked Guy, remembering that Richard had sought him out.

  “Only to ask if you needed my help with anything.” Richard rose awkwardly from the stool that Guy had sent for.

  “You can give me a full report of everything that happened when you went after Rosamunde, not just the bare bones that you gave me yesterday.”

  Richard hesitated, remembering the kiss he had shared with Rosamunde.

  “I do not ask from curiosity alone. My lord will want to know. I do not want him to ask Rosamunde.”

  “I understand that. It’s just…”

  “I know that it will cause you pain and that is why I do not want you to tell my lord either.”

  Richard blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that because you are in love with Rosamunde you will not want to tell me everything.”

  Richard stared at him. “Why do you say that I am in love with her?”

  Guy grinned. “I have watched you closely these last months, for fear that you might try to kill us all, or at least Rosamunde. I have seen much that you have thought secret and I have known for some time that you love her.”

  “But I have only known for two days.”

  Guy laughed. “Then you do not know yourself as well as I know you.”

  “What will you do?” asked Richard. Guy seemed friendly enough now, but had considered him a danger to his lord’s property and daughter for the last six months.

  “Do? Why do I need to do anything?” Guy’s face darkened. “You are intending to ask the duke for her hand?”

  “Of course. She has told me that she will support my request.”

  “Good!” Guy slipped an arm around Richard’s shoulders. “She has loved you even longer.”

  “I did not know her that well, either.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “I did not want to love or to be loved.”

  Guy nodded. “It is a hard thing to give your love where you think it may not be welcome.” His expression became sombre and Richard’s heart sank. He feared that Guy’s next words would reveal his own love for Rosamunde, although he did not understand how Guy could have told him so cheerfully that Rosamunde loved him if he was himself in love with her.

  “You are also in love?” It was as well to get it over with now.

  Guy stared at a spot several feet beyond Richard. “Isabelle.”

  Richard almost laughed in his relief, but remembered that Guy had told him that his love was not returned. There were three women called Isabelle in the castle, but Richard knew immediately which one Guy meant. She was a short blonde woman of about fourteen. Her father was still in France with the duke. Isabelle was beautiful and most of the young men in the castle had paid her court, with little apparent result, but Richard had not noticed that Guy had ever sought her out particularly. Despite the attention she received, Isabelle had never seemed particularly happy to Richard and he had assumed that the young man whose attentions she would welcome was also in France.

  “She does not encourage you?”

  “She doesn’t even know I exist and if she did there could be no match. She is the daughter of a lord and I’m a bastard.”

  “You are one of the duke’s most trusted advisers,” interrupted Richard. “Her father would take that into account.” Now that he knew that Guy had no interest in Rosamunde, he was prepared to help the young man if he could. “You should spend some time with her and find out whether or not she finds you pleasing.”

  Guy shook his head. “It would not matter if she did, it is her father’s choice. Not every father is like the duke in allowing the daughter to choose.”

  “Then you are doubly fortunate. Her father serves the duke. The duke will wish to reward you when he returns and you must ask him to speak to Isabelle’s father.”

  Hope flickered across Guy’s face, then died. “But if the lady does not wish it?”

  Richard shook his head. “Find out before you despair.”

  “Very well. I shall pay her court.”

  Guy walked away purposefully, as if to talk to the lady there and then. Richard knew that the women were in the solar, so he would not have the opportunity. Then he hurried after Guy, remembering that his duty was to give the young man a report of his rescue of Rosamunde.

  Eventually Rosamunde was well enough to leave her bed and she invited Richard to sit with her and play chess. Since Thomas was still confined to his bed and watched over by Margaret, Guy acted as Rosamunde’s chaperone and, to Rosamunde’s open delight, the two men grew closer as they sat and played and talked in the afternoons. It was not long, however, before Thomas was well enough to join them together with Margaret and the four of them spent many afternoons playing together. These were happy times for Rosamunde. For the first time since she had heard of Simon’s death there was no threat from Sir Walter hanging over her. She felt that she was once more ready for the return of her father, not as a daughter needing rescuing, but as a chatelaine who had performed her duties to her lord’s requirements.

  Richard was careful not to do or say anything that would give away his feelings towards Rosamunde until she was ready to say something. Guy’s perspicacity had scared him and he wondered how many others knew or guessed his secret. They had enjoyed one another’s company before, so he hoped it would raise no suspicions if they continued to do so.

  He could not know that he smiled more and that he stood closer to Rosamunde than was perhaps necessary. He was simply happy to see her bruises fade and the swelling on her face recede. He tried to make up for her ill treatment at the hands of Sir Walter by showing her how a man should act towards the woman he intended to make his wife.

  One morning when Rosamunde had finis
hed her meeting with the steward Margaret stood beside her. “I need to speak to you on a delicate matter,” she began quietly.

  Rosamunde was confused; it was unlike Margaret not to be direct about anything.

  “What is this delicate matter?” she asked.

  “Thomas and I…” she said, “Well it is obvious…” she paused again. “There is obviously some affection between you and Richard.”

  Rosamunde smiled. She had not intended to hide her feelings for Richard now that they had been declared, but she was surprised that Margaret and Thomas who were, after all, distracted by Thomas’ injuries should have noticed so soon.

  “Yes,” she replied, “He has made a declaration.”

  “Then there is something you should know.”

  Rosamunde frowned when Margaret did not return her smile. “Something about Richard?” she asked, suddenly fearful.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Such formality was unlike Margaret and Rosamunde knew that there must be something seriously wrong. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It is something that Richard said to Thomas about his wife.”

  “Yes. She died,” said Rosamunde, “In the Big Death.” That was all she knew about Richard’s wife. He had said no more and she had not asked.

  “Not before she divorced him,” said Margaret.

  Rosamunde sat, abruptly. There were very few reasons for which a woman could divorce her husband and none of those augured well for a woman who wished to be the second wife. “Why did she divorce him?” she asked, quietly.

  “Because he is impotent.”

  Rosamunde was stunned. How could such a man have asked for her hand in marriage? A man who knew that such a marriage would be a sin. And yet, Richard was a man of honour. True, she had long since realised that he did not consider that he should deal honourably with women, but she thought that she had earned his respect over the last few months. Surely there must be some other explanation, although for the moment it was difficult to see what it might be. “Would you please fetch Richard for me?” she asked. There was nothing for it but to ask him outright what had happened.